


Sleeping Men

by crisiskris



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 13:23:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13435605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crisiskris/pseuds/crisiskris
Summary: Spock figures out that sometimes you just have to be there with someone you love.





	Sleeping Men

It was very late. Len McCoy couldn’t remember how long exactly he’d been working, only that it had been grueling and increasingly futile to attempt to change the course of the deadly plague infecting the inhabitants of the planet that the Enterprise had been dispatched to assist.  Between desperate life-saving interventions with an ever-increasing number of critical patients, McCoy had been trying to discover a way – any way – of curing the ailment, or even finding a treatment to prolong life or ease suffering – anything at all – but he didn’t have the time to properly focus on it.  He’d been on his feet for at least sixteen hours without a break.  He couldn’t remember eating at all that day.  His bones felt like lead.

A wave of dizziness washed over him as he trudged down the street, heading from the hospital to the hotel where Starfleet officers were staying.  There was no one on the roads this late at night; hell, there were barely any people left in this city, period. Once the illness had struck, those that were healthy had been evacuated, and those that were sick were slowly dying off.  It seemed more and more likely that quarantine – containment, rather than cure – would be the only solution. McCoy sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. His eyes felt like sandpaper. 

As he turned to walk up the steps to the hotel, his foot caught on a crack in the pavement and his ankle turned. Losing balance, he ungracefully ended up half-falling into a sitting position, landing on his rump on the cold step.  He rubbed his ankle half-heartedly, his body refusing his command to rise. Eventually he just let his hands drop to his sides as his eyes drifted shut.

He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there, but he’d definitely drifted off, because Jim’s voice startled him out of sleep.  “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in bed?” The Captain asked. 

McCoy turned his tired eyes up to regard his friend, who was coming down the steps to join him. He let his eyes drift shut again as Jim settled down on the step.

“Pretty cold out tonight,” Jim observed.

“Hadn’t noticed,” McCoy replied.

“Go to bed, Bones. You’re exhausted.”

“Yes.”  The word was a whisper; McCoy was already drifting off again.

Jim sighed and stood up. “Come on,” he prodded, leaning down and hauling his friend to his feet.  The doctor stumbled, but Jim easily supported his weight. “Let’s go,” he continued, in the same soft voice.  Somehow McCoy got his feet underneath him and began hobbling up the stairs and through the lobby doors.  “That’s it.”  Jim guided his exhausted friend to the lift, letting McCoy lean on him as they rode to the fourth floor.  Then it was a slow walk to the sixth door on the right, where the doctor’s quarters had been assigned.  Jim fished in McCoy’s jacket pocket and pulled out his key.

“Sorry, Jim,” McCoy breathed, trying to rouse himself. 

“Shhh,” his friend replied. “No need to be sorry.  Go to sleep.”  He laid McCoy down on the bed and pulled his boots off before covering him with a quilt. McCoy was out before Jim even reached the door. The Captain pulled it shut behind him quietly before making his way back to the lobby.

Nurse Christine Chapel was just arriving off of her shift, looking tired but not done in.  “Captain,” she said, stopping him with a brief touch on the arm. “I sent Dr. McCoy back here about an hour ago – did he make it alright? He worked a double shift again today, and he was absolutely exhausted.”

“I tucked him in myself, Nurse,” Jim replied, eliciting a smile from the tired woman. “Now you go get some sleep.”

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir.” The nurse disappeared into the lift.

Jim walked over to the hotel’s front desk, which had been converted into a makeshift science station. His science officer was currently bent over a microscope, one eyebrow raised.  “Fascinating,” the man said as Jim approached.

“Did you find something, Mr. Spock?”  The Captain asked.

“Perhaps. I will need to run more tests.” The Vulcan straightened and met Jim’s eyes.  “How is Dr. McCoy?”

“Overworked as usual.” The glimmer of concern in Spock’s eyes did not go unnoticed by his Captain. “You could go check on him yourself, you know,” Jim continued. “It would not be unwelcome.”

Spock’s eyebrow rose again. “I would not wish to disturb his rest,” Spock replied.

“I doubt very much that he would experience it as a disturbance.” There was a teasing note to Jim’s voice now. Spock, as usual, did not rise to the bait.

“In my experience, when Dr. McCoy and I associate with each other in private, he does not get much rest,” Spock explained calmly. “Rest is certainly what he requires now. Therefore, regardless of how he may feel about my company, it would be illogical for me to wake him.”

Jim laughed out loud. “Whoever said humans were logical?” he asked, and then turned to leave. “Good night, Spock.”

“Good night, Captain.” Spock returned to his microscope. Within minutes, he had the parameters of the test programmed into the computer, and there was nothing else to do for several hours while the tests ran. He found his thoughts returning to the doctor.  Although it had not seemed like a logical choice, Spock had been drawn to the gruff man from the moment they’d met, finding his passion and irrationality a fascinating study in human behavior. Later, that fascination had developed into respect for the Doctor’s abilities, for his adherence to ethics even in the face of difficult decisions, and for his uncompromising dedication to healing. Later still, that respect had developed into friendship – and, as Spock became more comfortable with his human side, and the feelings that went along with it, he had begun to acknowledge that his emotional attachment to McCoy ran deeper still.

He hadn’t intended to begin courting the man; he’d simply wanted to get to know him better, so he’d asked the doctor to join him in several social activities.  He’d observed a strange tension growing between the two of them – they certainly enjoyed each other’s company, the conversation was stimulating, and they were developing an intimate rapport, but there was a level of discomfort or awkwardness that seemed to hover on the edge of all of their interactions. Spock hadn’t quite been able to identify it, until one day over a game of chess in Spock’s quarters, McCoy had blurted out, “is this a date?”

Of course the conversation had taken a turn for the worse because Spock did not understand the question and at first had thought McCoy was asking him some bizarre question with reference to a calendar. Once it had been established that the doctor was really asking whether Spock held romantic feelings towards him, however, the Vulcan found himself quite unable to describe how he felt. Obviously, Vulcans had feelings – they did find mates, have children that they cherished and protected, and maintain loyal connections to their families. Spock, however, had no experience with what these feelings were. In halting words, he’d attempted to describe to McCoy the sensations he’d been experiencing, feeling a small pang of worry that the doctor might say something caustic and dismissive.

Instead, McCoy had regarded him with his cool blue eyes, listening carefully, and then replied, “I love you too, Spock.”

The physical contact had developed much more slowly. It was a difficult situation for both of them – McCoy wanted to express his feelings with physical displays of affection, while Spock could barely even verbalize his feelings. Fortunately, although the doctor was prone to emotional outbursts, he seemed to recognize how important it was for Spock to move slowly, and he had not pushed the matter – though he did insist on a kiss goodnight after each night that they had ‘dated’. He’d started with a simple peck on the cheek, and then slowly progressed to a kiss on the lips, still chaste, but full of promise. It had been Spock who first opened his mouth into the kiss, darting his tongue across the other man’s lips. In other areas, the same pattern emerged. McCoy initiated a safe level of contact and let Spock decide when it should move further.

Thus, Spock had been the one to decide when it was time to engage in sexual relations, another challenge for inter-species mating. While Vulcans only mated once every seven years, they still could perform sexual acts, but they rarely did. As a result, Spock had very little experience. Fortunately, McCoy turned out to have plenty for the both of them, though he refused to elaborate on where he’d learned such skills. Soon they had established an intimate sexual relationship as well as an emotional one.

Nevertheless, it now occurred to Spock that _sexual_ and _physical_ may not be one and the same, as he had previously assumed. He realized that while they usually ended up having sex when they were alone together at night, it was not currently sexual relations that Spock wanted from McCoy. Instead, he found himself thinking about his partner’s touch – about being in physical proximity to the other man. Perhaps this was what the Captain meant when he alluded that McCoy would like to see him? 

Spock glanced at his tests again. They were still in progress, and would be for another 3.45 hours. He locked the computer so that no one could accidentally interrupt the test and headed for the lift. Stepping off on the fourth floor, he padded silently down the hall and eased McCoy’s door open. The doctor was curled on his side, fast asleep, still dressed in his disheveled and blood-spattered uniform. Spock crept around to the other side of the bed, removed his shoes, and slid under the quilt. Carefully, he wrapped his arms around the sleeping form, drawing it near.  McCoy melted into the caress with a murmur, but did not wake.

“Fascinating,” Spock murmured, holding McCoy a little more tightly. With his lover in his arms, the jab of concern that he had felt had disappeared. Spock laid his head down on the pillow and drifted off to sleep.


End file.
